The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  Cedric and his companions entered the city through Scallion’s Gate, ornate with golden vines and bronze doors some three meters thick. Through the gatehouse, they came upon the market districts of the city, now flooded by refugees from the countryside, who lay on piles of their belongings in tents and the open. The roofed markets had been mostly taken down, leaving room for people to sleep, with only the barest of goods still on sale. Guards rushed by, hurrying to one barracks or the next, handing out spears and helms to any man conscripted to fight in the Vine Guard.

  The faces of broken men and women littered the streets as Cedric, and his companions rode through on their horses, faces covered in dirt, yet strangely still filled with an endearing hope. The people of Midland were forged in hotter flames and were not willing to surrender. Minstrels still sang their songs and hummed tunes, keeping morale across the city as high as they could, being paid in scraps of bread rather than coin. A sense of community was felt throughout the city, each man was an equal, in the coming wave of doom.

  Suddenly Cedric spotted Leopold’s face amongst the unending mob of peasants; his pale skin was like a drop of milk in a bottle of ink. Immediately Cedric jumped from his horse and pushed through the crowd, and greeted Leopold with excitement, clasping one another’s hands.

  “Where is she?” Cedric said with concerned eyes.

  “Right this way.” Leopold bobbed his head and ushered Cedric through many alleys and backways, towards a smaller looking insula, where Tarquin and his men had established their quarters. Cedric gave Beorn, who sat sharpening his axe, only a small look as greeting, for his mind and feet were set on finding Aderyn. In a nook of a room, Cedric’s heart sank as his eyes fell upon his love’s thin frame and he fell back against the wall, feeling a buildup in his throat. She had fevered in the time he had gone, and her condition had spiraled sharply. Her neck was consumed in the foul black poison, and her breathing was shallow beyond common sight.

  Cedric rushed to her bed and placed her head on his lap. Taking the vial of cure from his pocket, Cedric gently lifted her head and poured its contents down her throat. It appeared some color had already returned to her pale face, and she breathed a heavy, but congested breath as the last of the green potion past her lips.

  Aderyn’s eyes opened, and Cedric’s heart raced at the sight of blue pupils as he had so many days and nights before. She gazed deep at him, and a faint smile escaped from her ghost white lips as she whispered in a weak tone. “I had dreamt of you.”

  Cedric smiled and held back tears of joy which now appeared to escape from his eyes like water from the darkened sky. He laid his lips upon her cold forehead and held her. “And I of you.” He responded as the two sat in the empty room, united and in bettering health.

  Cedric emerged sometime later, with Aderyn left to gather strength and rest under blankets that the lord had replaced. He met with his original company in the courtyard of the compound, where they had gathered and planned their next move. Alfnod stood with his arms on a table with maps sprawled across its surface, where they had placed mugs of beer and ale from barrels brought by Tarquin’s company. Alfnod gave the latest word from the front.

  “Word has reached Prav that First Marshall Lafayette has quelled the last of the chancellor’s forces…he marches across the Tyr as we speak, and should arrive soon. Yet we have had no word from Miro, nor from Amalric. Crawe has sent many scouts to his furthest holdings, though I doubt much will be learned from their reports, for the enemy in the field is beyond number nor camp. The Vine Guard have done battle with small regiments of raiders, though none beyond the size of a scouting skirmish. If they march on Prav, they will take the city.” Alfnod struggled to strategize their next move as he rubbed his fingers across the ink-stained paper of both local and large maps.

  “I will speak to Crawe as soon as possible; he will listen to a fellow lord, even one he thinks is a foreign threat,” Cedric said with a firm authority; he would need such a disposition to stand equal to the Wine King.

  “Don’t do anything to upset him,” Alfnod warned as he grabbed Cedric’s arm for his friend’s attention. “Malcom is an old and stubborn man, play into his hand, make him your superior, and he may just follow your word.”

  “What would a king be without diplomacy?” Cedric said with a light heart. The lord of Orford was given a private room amongst the apartments and changed into smoothly woven silks for his audience with Crawe.

  Cedric was accompanied by two Vine Guard officers and full company of spearmen, regaled in full plated armor and cloak, along with his own royal retinue of Alfnod and Gaspar. They were led along the Root, a huge boulevard which served as the main street of the city, which was spotted with flowing fountains and hanging vines which covered the marble laced buildings. At last, they reached the second city wall, which served as a decorative divider between the main quarters of the city, and the king’s own palace.

  Upon entering the gates, they were stunned to see the number of knighted lords and noblemen who stood gossiping in the gardens of the palace. They had come from all over, just as their subjects, and they too were afraid.

  “If Crawe has half a mind he’ll face them in the field before they’ve got enough to sack this city,” one voice raised.

  “Why not wait them out? Come winter there’ll only be stock in the city, and Azrael’s armies will starve.”

  “I hear they’ve started eating those they captured…for idle pleasure.”

  “Hush…there goes that southern lord.” Their great host of landed folk went quiet as Cedric walked by. Some looked in disdain, others with bright looks of hope. Even the noblest of the citizens were terrified in the truest sense, for they knew nothing differentiated them from the refugees when the horde comes for them in their beds.

  The gates of the great hall were opened, and Cedric was led inside. It was a cold feeling building, so different from the design of the rest of the city. None of the braziers that adorned the walls and sides of the columned hall were lit, so only the faint light from transparent windows filled the room. It was a long and narrow hall, with a massive table at its end, where a great burning fireplace resided, carved of pure stone and gilded with vines.

  Seated at the table, Malcom Crawe, Owain Sigberht lord of Gwent, Theodric Oderyr lord of Swamp Rock, and Cedric’s only courtly friend Lord Roderic, sat eating a fat boar that had been roasted, along with a whole crop of grapes. They appeared as three shriveled old men, their faces well-worn and fixed with a perpetual scowl. Malcom wore an elegant purple robe, which was fastened with a golden grape pin, and a seven-pointed crown rested on his head representing his seven vineyards.

  The guards behind them matched the ones that had brought Cedric, dressed in plate that protected them from head to toe. The rest of the army had not been given such equipment; most wore leather with golden badges and decorations, useless against a proper enemy.

  Roderic gave a small nod of encouragement as Cedric approached, and he gripped his hands in anticipation. Towards the wall of the hall, Cedric spotted Dag, who was adorned in his helm which covered the whole of his face.

  Cedric approached and bowed deeply. “Lord Malcom Crawe.” He said as he awaited response.

  Malcom appeared to shrug with his eyebrows and took a deep breath before recognizing Cedric. “Well…this is the lord from Wulfstan then? Would you have me lay like a kenneled dog, or should I just melt my crown for your grace?” Malcom was unimpressed, and his sour attitude filled the room with a cold disposition.

  “No, my lord I would not, for you are a king in your own right, just as I am. I did not come to take your crown, I came to defend the whole of the North,” said Cedric as Lord Owain turned and whispered into Malcom’s ear, who nodded with approval.

  “Words can be proven empty lord Cedric; actions cannot.” Malcom signaled to his steward and motioned for another course to be prepared. “Come, eat at my table, I’ll not deny a man their guest right.”

  Chairs were brought out,
along with a roasted duck and three golden chalices filled with sweet smelling wine for the Vine King’s guests.

  “I may be old Cedric, but I’m not some withered corpse…at least not yet.” Malcom burst out as he choked down the last of his wine, snapping his finger for the pitcher to be brought forward. “I will not stand idle while this demon’s servant ravages my country, killing my people, my own flesh, and blood. I need your armies same as you need mine. We have mustered ten thousand Vine Guard to our defense, and with your supporters, we will have a large enough army to take the fight to Azrael. I will lead this force, with you acting as one of my chief commanders.”

  “I’ll have peace on those terms, Malcom, I truly want what’s best…” Cedric said begrudgingly.

  “You shall address King Malcom by his proper titles, or by silence!” Owain of Gwent barked. He was a patriot to his country, and most importantly, fiercely loyal to Malcom, his friend who had shared many a battlefield with him.

  “It’s all right Owain, let the boy speak his word.” Malcom leaned in towards Cedric and spoke with a softer demeanor in his words. “Good, there will be supplies for that Lorinian army when it arrives.” Cedric raised a brow; he had thought Malcom was unaware of his army’s movement. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you’ve sent scouts to call them up? I know everything that goes on in my country.” Crawe shot a glare at Roderic, and the vine king threw a chunk of boar meat into his mouth, growling like a hungry wolf. “I’ve emptied every granary from here to Belfas. Without food, your men won’t follow you or me, and without your men, you’ve no more claim to the throne to a beggar in the streets.”

  “They have men,” Cedric said, “The enemy, more than either of us. I have seen their numbers swell the whole of valleys. At their helm, wise strategists from Lahyrst beckon orders with precision and without mercy. They come marching with mercenaries from east and south, trained to kill, and armed to the teeth. If you march your army out of this city, you’ll be blindly throwing away our one chance to survive. Azrael will not offer quarter, he comes to kill us all, you cannot treat him as a rabble-rouser to outwit, but as a doom-bringer to outlast. I will fight by your side, Malcom, but understand this; we should not march out of the city.”

  King Malcom grumbled with a grin, drawing out each of his words, “Good, good.” He downed a glass of wine. “Then it’s settled! Wine!” Malcom burst with such thunderous voice; his cupbearer nearly threw his pot of the drink.

  The cupbearer approached and poured another glass, this time in an ancient cup many times used. It was a simple thing, made of wood, but had the finished insides of fine copper. Malcom took the glass and drank half its content. “The pact making of my kin,” he said, “This cup, the first my forefather, Scallion Crawe, ever owned.” Malcom leaned in close to Cedric. “Remember your roots boy, no matter what, it makes for good crops.” He took the cup and offered it to Cedric, who took it and drank, sealing their pact as allies.

  “Now off to rest with ye!” Malcom bellowed, “I’ll have no man claim Malcom Crawe denied his allies the finest silk sheets this side of the world! Ha-ha!”

  Cedric stood up from his chair, followed by Alfnod and Gaspar, before turning to leave the hall. Gaspar awkwardly fiddled with his sleeves and bowed to Crawe. “My lord, any questions you have regarding our alliance please direct at me, for I am advisor to the good Cedric, who is clearly exhausted from the day’s travel, excuse us.” Malcom simply waved the magi away. Gaspar put his arm over Cedric, beckoned him away from the table and through the many halls of the castle.

  Cedric was given a full room in the palace, complete with silk sheets and soft pillows, so unlike the cold hillsides, he had become accustomed to. He washed himself with a fresh water basin as Alfnod entered.

  “Well, that went better than I expected,” Alfnod said with a sigh.

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. Cedric, you’ve just added double the strength of your army, with a man who now trusts you as much as its possible for Malcom Crawe to trust.” Alfnod raised a confident smile.

  Cedric sank onto his bed and folded his hands upon his face. “I suppose this is the last of it, not much more to do but fight.”

  “It seems that way…and we’re ready for when that fight comes. With Amalric, Pike, and Lafayette we’ll have one of the largest forces ever assembled in the north, all fighting for you. It won’t be easy mind you, but the fights worth fighting never are.”

  Roderic entered the room, regaled in his red vestments and with his nose held high, wearing a leather strip crown with golden beads. “My king.” He said with a cunning smile.

  “Those are treasonous words, Roderic,” Cedric said gravely as he peered out into the hall, making sure no guards were posted within earshot.

  “Is it treason to fight for the welfare of the North? If Azrael doesn’t slice Malcom in two himself, old age will take him soon, and with no male heirs, you have the next claim by all rights. Now then, I’ve brought near three thousand Rivermen up from my garrisons, they’ve got bows and slings for the most part, along with spears and short swords. They may not be the Vine Guard, but they’ll do for fodder.”

  “I will use them well Roderic; an arrow can kill as well as a blade,” Cedric said as he looked over some maps sprawled out on his desk, taking note of the latest sightings of Azrael’s forces.

  “None have yet seen the rotted one himself, some say this is all a ruse by your chancellor, and his mage Yellow-Eyes.”

  “And what news of they?”

  “Up north, near the Red Marsh, but again, those reports are unconfirmed.” Suddenly a sharp noise pierced the air. “By the gods what is that?”

  A horn’s blow was heard through the window, and Cedric rushed out with his companions to discover its source. The city waited in anticipation as the gates were swung open, and guards and commoners alike were filled with awe at what they saw.

  Gleaming in full shining armor, and adorned with feathery tops, the Knights of the Eternal Dawn had arrived. They came in columns of cavalry with squires and auxiliaries carrying luggage. A full regiment of knights had come, measuring near a fighting force of around one thousand full. The carts they came with were stuffed with Usham Fire, barrels filled with the black tar.

  Lord Crawe and his supporters came out to the courtyard, where they received a grinning Amalric regaled in full plated armor, with the image of a dawning sea’s horizon upon his breastplate and kite shield.

  Amalric bowed his head and saluted his feathered cap to Cedric and the other lords. “My lords, I bring the friendship of my order to our true king.” Amalric looked to Cedric, all to Malcom’s own displeasure. Amalric then pivoted his horse and addressed his host of knights. “Azrael sends a fighting force of near fifty thousand to Prav, he intends to sack the city within the fortnight, but we shall reveal the dawn to him!” The knights raised their swords and lances to sky, and let out a great rallying cry.

  The Wine King merely scoffed and turned to rest in his hall. “Well go ahead and make yourselves at home, Amalric, as though I have a choice.”

  Amalric hopped from his horse, but collapsed upon his knee and sighed in agony. Cedric rushed to his knight and lifted him by his shoulder. Cedric could see that Amalric’s left leg had completely gone, for it rested lifeless on the ground.

  “I thought I had more time, my lord.” Amalric had a look of melancholy on his face, and his eyes appeared tired, accepting of his fate. “But I fear leprosy does not wait for men.”

  “Can you walk? Gaspar may yet have some cure in his pouch.” Cedric spoke in a soft voice, to console his captain.

  Amalric waved off this gesture. “None such this exists, it would be but a delay to the inevitable. That’s what men must do Cedric, accept when their fate has arrived.” Amalric turned grim, his face washed of emotion as he limped with Cedric to the palace, where the defensive plans of Prav had begun.

  Chapter 26

  The Siege of Prav

  Three days had passed no
w, and the Knights, along with the mercenaries and Vine Guard had settled in for a siege. Battlements were constructed, and the last grain stores were finally filled. Cedric planned the siege with the rest of the lords, with Amalric overseeing the construction of strange containers for the Usham Fire upon the towers of the walls.

  By the third night, Azrael’s army had come, their torches and campfires were so numerous it appeared as if the fields were engulfed in burning flame. The horde set up small sets of barricades and wooden palisades, they did not intend to stay in the field for long. Cedric stood as a sentry on the wall, and by the torchlight, he saw the construction of siege ladders in the enemy camp.

  The moon reflected this doom, for it was full in the sky, and with the hue of blood. It appeared near three times as large as other nights, stretching full across the heavens, filling the men of Prav with unspoken fear.

  Malcom came to join Cedric’s watch, and the two shared a meal of chicken and wine as they were consumed by the ever-growing tension of the coming battle. Malcom had dressed for battle, wearing heavy chain which draped down like a tunic, along with a thick black cloak fastened by a silver brooch.

  “I suppose this is what I’ll be remembered for Cedric,” Malcom said with his signature scowl as he looked out to the enemy besieging his city. “For fifty long years we’ve had peace with my rule, but this is my defining moment. The scholars won’t remember the many winters I fed my people, or kept them safe on my roads, doesn’t make for exciting reading. If I’m to fall, I will make it something to remember.” Malcom paused for a long time, and the bitter old man fiddled with his chicken which stuck to bits of his snow-white beard. “I’ll take my place on the wall.” The ancient king said with a heavy grunt as he heaved his body from his seat, and walked with his hand along the wooden railing of the side of the wall.